


Green Cocktail

by spaceyquill



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Banter, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, countless missions never seen in swr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-09-12 05:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 7,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9057991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceyquill/pseuds/spaceyquill
Summary: Collecting all the drabbles of Hera and Boba written on tumblr. Expect short, short chapters. If you're looking for a continuous storyline, you won't find it here.





	1. A meeting neither will probably remember

Hunting Jedi was a dream come true, and the months following the Emperor announcing all Jedi as enemies were the most lucrative of Boba Fett’s young life. Although Mace Windu was reported dead—despite his body never being recovered—the former master of the Jedi Council, Shaak Ti, had been sighted on Ryloth. 

The Imperials had been the opposite of accommodating as Fett searched for leads across the rocky planet. Catching sight of a Mandalorian near the Ryll spice mines spooked them into believing Fett was there to steal their export. It was all the evidence the captains need to order deadly force used against the intruder, and five stormtroopers opened fire in the middle of a street in Lessu, the capital city.

Fett dove for cover behind stacked crates as blaster fire shot overhead. In the moment he took considering the possible effect killing Imperial stormtroopers would have on his Imperial-funded reward, a figure slid to a halt next to him and returned fire with her own small blaster. 

The Twi’lek fell on her backside just as the enemy fire burst anew. Her eyes a deeper, more vibrant green than her skin, she looked him over without recognition. 

“The kark are you?!” he shouted. 

“Shh, you’re safe now,” she said with a wink before jumping up and again firing on the stormtroopers.

Fett wasn’t about to let her take all the credit, and sprang up to join her, his blaster leaving much darker burns on stormtrooper armor than hers. 

“Name’s Syndulla!” she shouted. “Stick with me, I’ll get you outta here!”


	2. Fuel Shortage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events following season two's Protector of Concord Dawn.
> 
> This is actually written to follow chapter 4 of Mandalorian Honor, and it seems to be the only ficlet so far to coincide with that au.

The fleet was growing frantic amid fuel shortages and the Empire’s patrols stretching well outside their jurisdiction, aggressively on the hunt. Despite just recently earning permission to use Concord Dawn’s hyperspace route, that alone wasn’t enough to avoid close calls with an ever-watchful predator. 

It was under these circumstances that Commander Sato tasked the _Ghost_  crew out to three different directions at once, to which Hera readily agreed and Kanan obstinately refused. 

“You were barely released from the medbay a full week ago,” Kanan argued from the main room as Hera toted a bag of supplies from her personal cabin. “You need _rest_ , not to go flying off to the Unknown Regions by yourself! I’m thoroughly against this, by the way!” 

His protests had only grown louder over the last hour as Hera completed her final checks for her solo mission. He himself was late for his rendezvous with Phoenix Squadron: he and Ezra were assigned to them for a spur of the moment exploration and diplomacy mission. His padawan was probably already there. 

“Rex doesn’t need both Sabine _and_  Zeb—take one of them with you. Take both!” 

“Kanan, I am _fine_ ,” she stressed, skirting him on her way to the ladder. It was thoughtful of him to worry while she was cooped up in a medical bed, but that phase of her recovery was over. His anxiety unduly persisted. 

The large bandages were long gone, her flight suit was new, her cap back in place. Only a tenacious bruise on her cheek and one bandage on her brow remained from her near-death accident. It didn’t even hurt to move anymore.

“If it’ll make you feel any better, I’m taking Chopper along with me.”

“I’d feel better if _I_ went with you,” he muttered.

One glove on a ladder rung, Hera whipped back around, eyebrows slanted in displeasure. “Do you want to hold my hand, too? Or maybe pilot for me, if you think I can’t function without _you_ at my side for one mission?”

“I didn’t mean that,” Kanan said. “It’s just that we’ve got no information to corroborate this intel supplier you’re supposed to meet, and I want you to have proper backup if things go the way things _usually_ go for us.” 

Chopper blurted indignantly from up in the _Phantom_. 

But seeing that his argument was only sharpening Hera’s glare, Kanan sighed and attempted to placate her. “Even injured, you’re a better pilot than me.”

“You’re right, I am,” she agreed through pursed lips, and climbed the ladder to the _Phantom_.  

* * *

The closest neutral space waystation rotated just inside the fringes of the Unknown Regions, a four hour hyperspace journey for Hera and Chopper. Without the rest of the crew, it was relatively quiet. Until they docked. 

As the old airlock wheezed itself into a secured seal with the _Phantom_ , Chopper funneled a complaining whine into a question.

“No, Chop, I’m not going to need an armed escort. Thanks for the offer.” She spun her chair around to face the orange astromech. “I know you’ve never met this informant before, but I contacted him specifically to meet me, and I’ve come prepared.”

The station airlock creaked under Hera’s footsteps—even louder under Chopper’s mass. Freedom from the Empire showed in the rust eating away at thicker joints, the decades-faded paint, and the litter from years of passing vagabonds. 

Chopper pointed out all these red flags as he wheeled behind her, gesturing one arm to old graffiti that Sabine could’ve outdrawn as a four-year-old. 

“No, _I’m_ the one who picked the meeting location,” she said, and all his insults ceased. 

Hera waved Chopper away once they reached the main loop lined with shabby eateries, kiosks selling miscellaneous everything, and vendors that Hera had probably seen on a wanted poster at one time or another. 

She strolled casually, looking at the limited services the station offered—probably only appealing to pirates unable to dock on any surface controlled by the Empire—and perfectly blending in with the wildly diverse range of patrons. Humans, Rodians, and Ithorians were plentiful, as were races Hera usually assumed to be more affluent, like Pantorans and Zeltrons. She certainly wasn’t the only Twi’lek to be seen on this station. There were as many Twi’lek privateers as there seemed to be slaves following masters of different races. They all ignored Hera as readily as she ignored them.

Halfway around the main circuit, Hera took a turbolift down two floors. This level was darker, and somehow danker. Kiosks were fewer and farther between, yet more litter scattered across the floor. The handful of aliens she passed here all turned and eyed her: Niktos, Houks, and even the odd Talz watched her before turning back to their hushed conversations or credit bags changing hands.

Hera entered the third airlock on her right to find a man in green armor leaning against the wall halfway to his ship’s entrance. 

Boba Fett tilted his helmet when she stopped within arm’s reach, saying, “What happened to you? Looks like a ronto stepped on your face.”

“You should’ve seen the ronto,” Hera replied, hands on her hips. 

Fett flicked a datacard out of one pouch on his utility belt amid an approving chuckle. “Look, I had to go through a lot of trouble for this; the Empire’s tight-lipped about its refueling coordinates. Plus, from what I can gather from pirate chatter in your sector, it sounds like you’re looking to buy for the whole fleet. And you need it bad.” He fanned the card back and forth. “That’s gonna cost extra.” 

“ _How_ extra?” Hera demanded, good eyebrow arched. 

Fett shook his head. “I have a lurking suspicion you can’t meet my price.”

Hera clapped a hand over his glove as he made to return the card to his pouch. “Unless you feel like flying all this way for a laugh and to get your helmet bashed into your face, I suggest you rethink that.”

“This is why I look forward to doing business with you,” Fett said. He looked from the card to the determined pilot. “Two thousand.”

Hera almost choked on air.

“Unless you got a better offer?”

“Yeah, I do.” Hera stepped up to him and shoved both his shoulders against the wall. She saw her own defiant gaze reflected in his T-visor before glancing down his armor, a gloved finger trailing over one of the many blaster marks on his breastplate. “Does your tractor beam generator still need fixed?”

“I need specific parts from Corellian shipyards. There’s no way you—”

Her eyes flashed up again, stern. “When I get that generator fixed, it’s a fair trade, right?”

* * *

Chopper still bleeped his indignation at being used as a shopping cart all the way down the airlock to _Slave I_. His arms held a crate in front of him that Hera had filled with equipment she bartered from main-floor vendors. 

Fett scanned over her purchase as she stepped into his ship, arms crossed, muttering, “If these parts turn out to be _osik_ and my tractor beam shorts out, you’ll owe me more than just two thousand credits.” 

Hera waved his reservations right off as she navigated through his ship, but Chopper, on her heels, growled in defense. 

“Same to you!” Fett snarked. A beat later, he followed both up to the corridor leading to the cockpit, where Hera had already pried open a ceiling tile, standing on Chopper’s crate to boost herself into the opening. 

“And if your mech plugs into my ship, I’m shooting him.”

Chopper’s head whirled around first, followed by his body. His outer arm swung out to shock Fett’s leg through his pants, earning a solid kick to his body that sent Chopper wheeling into the wall.

“Boys!” Hera shouted, head and lekku hanging from the hole in the ceiling. “Let’s at least _act_  a little professional!”

Somehow, they struck a truce and let Hera work in peace for the next three hours. 

* * *

Hera stood at the entrance to the cockpit as Fett took far too much time checking the condition of his tractor beam generator. 

“I guess it’ll pass,” he conceded, “with those low grade parts you scrounged up here.”

Hera folded her arms. “This coming from the guy who couldn’t even fix it? You were about to go back to the Core Worlds to _pay_  someone to repair this piece of junk?” 

His visor immediately glinted in her direction. “Watch your mouth.” He patted his console soothingly. “It’s not junk.” Hera rolled her eyes.

“So. Fair trade, right?” 

Begrudgingly, Fett reached into his belt and withdrew the datacard. Hera swiped it up before he even began to offer it to her.

There was no ‘thank you’ or any farewell niceties before Hera spun on her heel to exit the ship. Crossing the threshold into the airlock where Chopper waited, she heard Fett’s words echoing, “Best of luck… it’s a big galaxy out there.” 


	3. Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera and Boba find time to talk after some unspecified mission

“Does it ever get old, turning in a bounty and getting a huge reward with zeroes longer than your name?” Hera asked. She and Fett sat in the cockpit, illuminated mainly by the soft blue of hyperspace, killing time.

Fett snorted through his helmet. “Lucrative bounties are rare. Most of my payment goes to ship repair, weapons upgrade, systems upgrade. It’s no life of luxury.”

“But it’s not a life of scraping by,” Hera said. One lek over her shoulder, she twisted the tip between her fingers, unbidden memories rearing their heads once more. “Credits talk. You can buy anything… you can buy happiness.”

“I can’t remember the last time I was happy,” said Fett.

Hera dropped her lek, glancing at the bounty hunter without a trace of pity. “Don’t even start with the melodrama. I have to deal with that enough in my own crew.”

“Hey,” he said, hands up defensively, “I’m just sayin’. If you don’t have happiness without credits, you won’t have it with credits, either.” 

Hera studied him. “You’re not at all what I was expecting.”

Fett, leaning back against the headrest, seemed to watch her just as intently from behind his visor. 

At least it felt like it. 

“I get that a lot.”


	4. Naps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A direct continuation of chapter 3, in retrospect. Hera and Boba return home after a mission.

Hera Syndulla, as experienced a pilot as she was, rarely ran hyperspace trips lasting longer than an hour, considering she hadn’t journeyed far from the Lothal system in ages. A seven hour hyperspace jump, therefore, left her with about six and a half hours of _absolutely nothing to do_ in a ship that wasn’t even her own. She sat in the cockpit of _Slave I,_ returning from a mission as a favor to Boba Fett, who was racked out on his bunk.

At three hours in, the exhaustion from their stressful—yet surprisingly successful—operation at reclaiming the Relic of Tumov from a Hutt’s labyrinthine dungeon finally hit her like Chopper and his booster rocket.

Fett certainly did no more in this mission than Hera did. She ran just as often into enemy fire, and took down as many guards as Fett before piloting his ship through the fortress’ laser cannons. If anyone deserved to rest, it was Hera. 

His bunk was maybe three paces behind the cockpit, tucked into an alcove in the wall between exposed electrical circuitry and deceptively tiny storage compartments. Armor shucked, he was down to an undershirt and pants, splayed far too wide for his little cot, and fast asleep. 

Hera pushed him against the wall until she could squeeze herself on the bunk, laying on her side under the perpetual threat that Fett would roll back over and force her onto the ground. She wondered how she’d ever be able to get to sleep under these circumstances, but barely a beat after letting that complaint run through her head, she was out.

Four hours later, a shrill beep blared from the cockpit. Hera felt a shove before the floor grate met her back and a pain shot straight to her head—she’d landed on her lekku. She sat up in time to see Fett disappear into the cockpit. The ship was exiting hyperspace and demanded a pilot. 

Hera appeared next to the pilot’s chair in time to see the bright blue of hyperspace fade into the blackness of regular space. Several planets decorated the viewport, the closest wrapped in Garel’s familiar cloud cover. As Fett steered toward it, Hera finally noticed him. Her smile was instantaneous. 

She’d only seen Boba Fett out of his helmet once, but his hair hadn’t been so erratic, nor his eyes this puffy. He blinked sleepily as she combed a gloved hand through his dark hair. Hera hadn’t really touched him before, not in an amiable way at least, but there was something about his face that invited hands-on attention.

Fett glanced up at her. “What were you doing in my bunk?” 

“Sleeping. Don’t get excited.” 

He shook his head at his own phrase used against him before vacating the pilot’s chair. With his bleary features, he looked like he could fall asleep walking. “Take over. I’m changing back into my armor.” 

Hera sat down at the controls. If he wasn’t back in five minutes, she’d check to make sure he wasn’t racked out on his bunk again.


	5. Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not long after SWR season 2 finale, Hera relives flashbacks of the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> January 15 is the anniversary of this ship, if anyone was wondering~ *confetti*

Somehow, the worst firefights happened lately when Hera was without a crew. Sabine, Ezra and Zeb were off on their own mission in the _Phantom_ and Kanan never strayed far from base as he required regular medical monitoring for his extensive injury.

Chopper screamed from the back of the cockpit each time the _Ghost_ rattled from anti-air fire. Hera banked to the side before rocketing almost straight up. A couple more curls into the clouds pulled them out of range of the canons, only to be shot at by enemy fighters—three of them approaching her port side. Their fire could reach, but they were no match for the speed of the _Ghost_ and Hera easily outdistanced them, weaving elegantly through their attempts at shooting her down.

Rebel intel had said that the moon of Qshrosh was home to small-time gangs with subpar equipment. When Hera and Fett landed, they found a well established Black Sun cell there with impressive fighters, armories, and ships.

Fett had been the only thing that brought Hera back to the safety of the _Ghost_.

The galaxy stretching into the soft blue glow of hyperspace—her safe haven—seemed to sigh with relief along with Hera. It was her first moment of peace since they landed on Qshrosh.

“Run a ship-wide diagnostic,” she told Chopper, standing. “See what damage we sustained.”

Her short trip to the main cabin was the regular distance Hera needed to shake the compacted tenseness out of her limbs, fighting through her tight nerves.

Hera found Fett ascending the ladder from the cargo bay. “No help on the guns, huh?”

“Last time I touched one, you sicked your astromech on me.”

Fair point. Although lately, Chopper had taken to Fett and would rather listen to him than Hera.

“We’ll be back in the Mid Rim in about an hour,” she said, casting a cursory glance over his green armor. Hera didn’t know why she did it, considering she’d never really inspected it before.

A burn high on his left sleeve drew her eyes to the corresponding dark scorch mark on the edge of his breastplate, like someone aimed for his heart but hit too far to the side.

One blink later, instead of a green-armored Mandalorian, Hera saw a Twi’lek standing there, helpless, gushing blood.

A sudden, familiar, _aching_ panic gripped Hera. She barked orders for Fett to shuck his armor, and two steps later she’d pulled a medical case from an overhead panel and forced him onto the couch, kneeling over him. Fett’s strong restraining hold on her wrists was the only thing that kept her from yanking his armor off herself.

“What the kriff?! I’m fine!”

And he was Boba Fett again. Hera’s intensity evaporating, she set the medic box atop the dejarik table as she retreated, exhaling her worst memories into all this newfound space. She started pacing again, shaking out the tenseness she only earned this fiercely from flying. When had her nerves wound so tightly again?

“Sorry,” she muttered. “It just… took me back.” And luckily with Boba, that’s all she needed to say.

She caught the tail end of a chuckle sliding through his helmet vents. “I guess it’s a nice change, someone _worried_ about my life. But my armor’s pulled me through hairier situations than this.” He tapped a knuckle to his latest scorch mark. Pulling off his helmet, he displayed the dent on top. “That’s compliments of your crew.”

“Not surprising,” Hera said with a smirk. She’d finally worked out all her anxiousness and joined Fett on the couch where he now claimed much more area lounging. She inspected his armor rationally this time, noting the dings and scratches that hadn’t buffed out. She pointed to the deepest one over his stomach. “What’s that from?”

“The shadiest Devaronian I ever met. Tried to gore me with his durasteel-plated horns after I slapped binders on him.”

He had a reason for every successive mark she indicated—so either his memory or his imagination was excellent.

“It’s the best armor I’ve ever had… and I’ve been fighting since I was a kid.” Fett plunked his helmet on the table next to the med box.

“That’s the life of most children growing up during war,” sighed Hera. “Well, I was especially close—my father fought in the clone war.”

Boba nodded in commiseration. “Mine died in it.”

“I’m so sorry. So did my mother.”

She regretted those words the moment said them. Of course Boba Fett, a clone, didn’t have a mother. What was she trying to do, one-up him? Let him know she lost something he never had? It seemed like a natural progression of conversation after he mentioned having a father—which should’ve caught her attention but slipped right under the radar. And now, there was no inoffensive way to ask: _You_ had a _father_?

Fett absently ran a thumb along the red lines of his helmet. “In situations like ours, it seems like there’s never a mother around, doesn’t it?”

Hera kept silent, sinking into the depths of her past, just thankful her partner never changed back into that familiar Twi’lek right in front of her eyes.

“What was your mother like?”

Hera jumped out of her memories, chewing on her lip. Stalling. She wasn’t expecting that question. She expected the conversation to veer far from family if Fett even struck one up again. After all, he could slip into taciturnity for hours and she rather liked that.

But… he asked.

“Strong. Calculating. Her best trait was probably that she kept everyone together. It’s amazing, she could be so similar to my father and yet so different. He was the loud, direct approach—sudden and out of nowhere; she was the sneaking flank attack amid the ensuing chaos. Dependant on it.” She couldn’t stop the soft smile already crinkling her eyes. A ridiculous reaction, considering her current relationship with her living parent. But memories of the good times, before all that, remained swathed in the glow of youthful innocence.

“Sounds like they worked well together.”

“Until they didn’t.” Her smile faded.

“Partners will do that to you.”

“Only if you keep making the same mistakes without learning.”

Fett caught her gaze. “Is there a moral lesson you’re hinting at?”

“It wasn’t directed at _you_ ,—.” Her voice awkwardly fell away. She almost blurted out a term of endearment.

She almost called him _love_. And not entirely sure why.

Sliding his attention back to his finger lazily tracing his helmet lines, Fett smirked. That was something else Hera rather liked. Conversation ceased after that, the space between them filled instead with a comfortable silence—and Hera periodically sneaking more glances at Fett’s armor.


	6. Huddles for warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera and Boba have to hide from Imperials while waiting for Numa to finish her mission

“I’m powering down, I’ve evaded them this way before,” Hera said. The moment the telltale angles of a Star Destroyer drifted out of the shadow of the moon the _Phantom_ circled, Hera had immediately piloted into the asteroid belt just beyond its orbit. The encrypted message she relayed to Numa, undercover on the moon’s surface, would have to suffice for however long they were to be under com silence.

“Attach to one of the asteroids,” suggested Boba Fett from just behind her shoulder.

“Sure, I’ll just dock at the next airlock I see,” she deadpanned.

“The Empire uses asteroid fields for fighter training. Their TIEs will spot even your dinky ship if they run through. It’s better to at least attempt some sort of camouflage.”

Hera huffed at him but landed inside the first shallow crater she came across.

Chopper argued with arms flapping, his binary even louder in the emptiness of a powered down ship.

“Chop, either you switch off or I switch you off!” she snapped.

He grumbled, but stomped his way against the back wall. He shared a farewell wave with Fett before his lights all faded.

“And now we wait,” sighed Hera.

Conveniently, their asteroid rotated bit by bit in the Destroyer’s direction, allowing the two passengers to keep an eye on the predator.

There had only been intel to suggest an Imperial presence on the largest planet in the Tenavev System, not on the inhabited moon of one of the smallest planets.

Hera drummed her fingers on the dark controls. “I hope they’re just passing through; Numa’s op shouldn’t take more than an hour now.”

Glinting light pinpointed a squad of TIEs flying from the Destroyer’s hangars toward the moon.

Hera smacked a glove over her face.

“Maybe they’re just stopping for caf,” Fett said from one of the seats in back. Hera spun the pilot’s chair around to squint at him.

“You’re not helping.”

The ship grew colder. The windows fogged to the point where Hera could no longer make out the Destroyer. She began pacing up and down the _Phantom_ , rubbing her arms and blowing into her hands. Finally she gave in and pulled a blanket out of a bin, draping it over her flight suit and sitting next to Fett.

“Need one?”

“It’s all you,” he said. He lounged across two seats while Hera shivered next to him, the blanket bunched tightly around herself.

Only after her teeth start chattering did Fett give in with a defeated sigh and wrap one arm around her, rubbing her arms through the blanket. “You said you’ve evaded the Empire like this before?”

Hera tried to glare at his pointed doubt, but her face didn’t quite work at the moment. “Y-yes! B-but there’s a b-big difference ‘tween floating where sunlight can s-still find you and hiding in a c-crater!”

Fett pulled her against himself and continued warming her arms.

“You’re awfully g-generous all of a s-sudden,” she said.

“Yeah, well, if your droid or your Twi’lek partner find you dead, they’re gonna blame me.”

Hera curled up in the newly created warmth. Either Fett grew bored or tired because he chose to just hold her now.

“It’s not like you’re earning a huge payment for this,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder armor hopefully lightly enough that he didn’t notice.

“Moff Nermolov controls this sector,” Fett muttered. “And the more chances I get to shoot him, the better.”

Hera smiled. Fett’s fickle hatred of certain Imperials was a small, selfish validation for Hera’s own stance. Anytime she could bond over mutual enemies, she felt a little closer to Fett.

“Plus the company’s not bad,” he added, and Hera’s head shot up, cheeks coloring. “…but then you went and made Chopper shut down, so now it’s just you.”

Hera’s laugh came out in a wheeze, and she shoved Fett through the blanket before settling back down against his shoulder armor. “Yeah, well, same to you,” she lied.


	7. Quick escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Attempted Halloween-themed ficlet

Rain fell in sheets, drenching both Hera and Fett the moment they dashed out onto the flat roof. Flashes of pink lightning carving the sky warned them they were quickly running out of space—once they reached the ledge, it was nothing but the cavern below; the sanitorium had been built on a sheer cliff. Behind them, sentients followed them onto the roof, lumbering, lurching, crawling: Dugs, Aqualish, Talz, Humans.

The roof protruded like a blade, and looking over the edge, neither side was any safer. By the time Hera and Fett stood at the furthest point, they were squeezed shoulder to shoulder.

“Don’t invite me on your missions anymore,” Fett said.

The groaning from their pursuers could just be heard over the rain that cut through Hera’s flight cap. “Don’t think there’ll be many more missions after this!” 

The empty holster in her boot felt unnaturally light, and defenseless against the encroaching mob, she doubled her efforts at looking for any means of escape. Jumping was suicide, and the windowless building stood as smooth as the cliff face it was built on.

With a gasp, she was pulled flat against Fett’s armor plating.

“Hang on,” he intoned.

Hera flung her arms around him, and somehow any phrase of acquiescence came out as “I… I love you.”

His visor tilted in her direction. “Let’s discuss that some other time, yeah?”

Just as a Talz loomed behind them with one claw raised to swipe, Hera stuffed her face into the fabric of Fett’s neck and felt them tip over the edge. They lurched as his jet pack ignited, but it still felt like they plummeted faster than they sailed, and with Hera on the bottom of this unfortunate situation, anything they landed on would meet her, first.

Another lurch and she felt the them slow with the friction of Fett skidding; then they were both rolling on the rocky ground. Hera sat up to see Fett had circled the building sharply enough to land on the top of the cliff, near the front door of the sanatorium—from which another mob was approaching.

“So, what was that you were saying?” Fett asked, reeling in his fibercord whip.

“Not now!” cried Hera. “Run!”


	8. Sparks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two ficlets for Valentine's day thrown into one chapter. The second one is *very strongly* T.

Kissing edition

Boba Fett’s jetpack wasn’t built for two, and although he kept them from plummeting to the ground following their speeder’s mid-air collision, they still ended up skidding onto the street below. Hera’s body screamed in pain when Fett pulled her to her feet; leaning on Fett’s arm was the only way Hera limped away from the scene of the accident before Imperials came to inspect.

Two blocks later, Hera panting, Fett led her into an alley, where he yanked off his helmet, grumbling, “Filtration’s broken. Visor’s fogging up.”

She watched him fiddle with it and failed to suppress a smile. “Thank you,” she finally whispered. “You pulled me out just in time back there… for a second I thought you were going to leave me.”

Fett looked up. “Don’t think so badly of me.” His expression wasn’t offended—in fact his gaze was loaded with a challenge—and Hera responded in kind.

She closed the distance between them in one limp and leaned in for a kiss. It was hard to convey gratitude and attraction through dry lips, and Fett—ever alert—was quick to pull away. But there was a spark of something new in his eyes now. Something enticing. 

 

Not just kissing edition

Hera’s shivers were most apparent in her intertwined lekku as the kisses trailed down her stomach. The hands sliding down her sides after it were almost searing hot in contrast to the cool cockpit.

Hera lay on the floor under blinking console lights and countless distant stars dotting the viewport, an excess blanket the only thing separating her from the durasteel floor. Her hands in his hair, she gasped as Boba Fett slowly worked his way back up, his lips exploring her green skin straight between her breasts. 

Her hands caught his pants—although she was down to just her lower underwear, the bounty hunter still wore an undershirt and everything below the waist. 

“Not very fair,” she hissed, a tug on his clothes for emphasis. 

Fett let her busy herself with zippers but distracted her with kisses as much as he could. “I thought we were focusing on  _you_?” He nuzzled over to an ear cone and the softest kiss from him made her entire body shiver. She lost her purchase on his clothes and clung to his sides instead. 

“Focus all you like, just as long as you’re equally naked,” she said, her grip as hard as the authoritative glint in her eye. 

Fett almost smiled. “Aye aye, Captain.”


	9. Space escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many times will Fett's jetpack save them from certain doom? idk until I'm bored with recycling that trope prolly

Sirens ricocheted off every surface in the little auxiliary ship, horrific in their ensemble. Hera was familiar with the warnings of failing engines, but it was the shriller wailings—the sounds she only heard when routinely testing those rare alarms to make sure they still functioned—that actually scared her.

It wasn’t often that the hull ruptured and life support bled into space.

Too many flashing lights vied for Hera’s attention; her attempted multitasking failed to appease most of them. “This didn’t happen the last time when I had Jedi with me!” Hera shouted over the noise.

Boba Fett poked his helmet into the cockpit to retort, “Did it occur to you to take _them_ on this mission instead? Then I wouldn’t have to hear about it every four minutes!”

The varied warnings suddenly turned into a single, echoing wail, and Fett closed in behind her to inspect the sensors which had long stopped monitoring the danger to constantly flash at their maximum.

“What’s happening?”

Hera slammed another panel button and the cockpit door slammed shut behind them as Hera scrounged through a wall bin for a pilot’s helmet that fit her.

“That door will seal us off for a bit but we’re running out of time fast!” Amid all the shrieking systems Hera engaged the comm system. “Chopper! Bring the _Ghost_ around, we need an emergency pick up!”

The _Ghost_ slid into the viewport half a minute later, barely visible beyond the colorful reflections of every possible warning light.

“We’ll never be able to dock in time! I can’t even maneuver this around!”

“In time?” Fett asked, his sharp tone cutting through the wails. “In time for _what_?”

“This ship is…going to blow. And if the _Ghost_ gets too close, it could be damaged in the blast!”

“Then we’ll meet your ship from here.” Boba Fett flipped the standard switches and safeguards to disengage the viewport magnetization before he grabbed her around the waist.

“No—th-there’s no going back if we do this!”

“Exhale,” he advised, and kicked the transparisteel barrier out into space.

Hera didn’t hear anything after that, not her own breath hitching as she tried to follow his advice, nor his jetpack engaging as they lurched into the weightlessness beyond the radius of their ship’s artificial gravity.

For living in space, Hera had never been out in it—not like this. The freezing cold gripped her lekku and yet to feel them flying through utter _nothingness_ , no friction, no wind, was so utterly foreign. Or maybe they were already numb. Her lungs burned from lack of air and still her mind wandered to the overall risk of the situation: Fett was the only thing bringing her closer to the _Ghost_ and if she lost hold of him, she’d die in the expanse that had always been her escape.

She clung to him all the tighter.

Just as the darkness crept into her peripheral vision, Fett flew up through the ray shield in the belly of the _Ghost_ and immediately lurched in the return to artificial gravity. At least the durasteel covering had slid back in place by the time they slammed into the ground.

Hera and Fett both chucked their helmets, coughing and sputtering on the cold floor until they could manage to move. All they attempted at first was pushing themselves to their hands and knees. Fett wobbled a little, the dazed look on his face probably a side effect of the lightheadedness plaguing Hera.

“There are benefits to working with bounty hunters,” he said. It hardly sounded smug when he looked so disoriented.

Hera managed a smile, though, and before either of them attempted to stand, she pulled him by the chestplate into a kiss. They swayed together now, Hera’s dizziness fading into the sharp durasteel bite on her knees and her heavy pulse pounding through her lekku as the numbness burned out. If not for her flight cap, they’d be curled around one another.

Fett didn’t pull away, and only when she felt his arm slide behind her did she realize she might’ve overstepped a line. Her cheeks burned greener as she jerked back.

“Sorry… that was probably a bad idea,” she mumbled before finally pushing herself to her feet.

Grabbing his helmet, Fett was once more his bounty hunter persona as he followed her lead. “I know from experience: oxygen deprivation makes people do strange things.”


	10. Last Flight Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The others in the Ghost crew find out about Hera's working partner on her away missions.

The bright blue of hyperspace nearly washed out the two holographic figures flickering atop the console in the cockpit of the _Ghost_.

“Mission accomplished and headed back now,” Hera told the images of Sabine and Kanan. Next to her pilot’s seat, Chopper spun his probe about incessantly, maintaining the frequency.

“Your new partner working out well?” Kanan asked, disapproval thick. Even with half his face covered, he conveyed through his frown and crossed arms the kind of disappointment Hera hadn’t seen come from him in a very long time.

Hands on her hips, the distrustful look Sabine shot Hera’s way was as sharp as if she’d been there in the room. “Hope it was worth it, working with him.”

Her crew learning the news of Hera’s partnership with Boba Fett had gone as well as a midair collision. While Sabine had partially known of Hera’s first mission with Fett, she was just as unaware as the rest of the crew about how many successive missions there had been. And it was a complete shock to the rest of the crew.

“I’ll be back by the start of the day shift tomorrow,” she promised. The fleet would appreciate the spoils currently in the cargo hold, but those wouldn’t be enough to wipe the frowns off of her crew’s face as their images flickered out.

Sighing, Hera trudged out of the cockpit, Chopper at her heels, to find Fett leaning against the wall right next to her cabin door.

“Sounds like they hate me,” he said.

For as much as they worked together over the past year, Hera learned to pick up on when he was acting anything other than indifferent—and right now he was just smiling.

Hera hugged her arms around herself. “Do you blame them?”

“And what about you?”

“Well, I don’t blame them!”

Chopper wheeled around her to ram into Fett in the only way he knew how to hug. His little arms hardly reached around one leg, but Fett patted the flat top of Chopper’s head, regardless.

A small laugh vented from his helmet. “Not what I meant.”

“I don’t hate you,” Hera admitted, hugging herself tighter. “I could never hate you. That’s the problem.”

The idea that Hera and Fett could even work together was implausible enough to be absurd. His armor struck fear into any sentient unlucky enough to end up on the wrong side of a bounty, yet it was the biggest relief for her to see when their missions landed them in crossfire. He always said he’d only accept missions that were mutually beneficial for both of them. But lately Hera could only recall times where the rebellion profited from them—new shield generators, new parts, new munitions—and Fett still went.

“Too bad we probably won’t be working together after this,” he said. “You weren’t a bad partner.”

His voice sounded cold through his helmet, but it only reminded Hera of all the painted clones who had saved her people. Even still, her initial reaction to anything Fett requested in that accent of his was to accept, before her mind clicked into parsing his meaning.

“Likewise.”

“What should we do on our last flight together?” he asked, hardly cutting through her muddled mind when all his voice did was scramble everything further.

Hera shooed Chopper away down the hall and he obeyed with his usual amount of complaining.

“You could take off your helmet,” she suggested, stepping closer.

“I will if you will.”

Hera smirked at him before pulling off her goggles then her flight cap, exposing a headful of green skin. He’d seen her without a covering before, but that didn’t stop her from feeling somewhat naked in front of him.

The corridor then filled with the familiar hiss of Fett’s seal breaking, and he removed his helmet for the first time that mission.

Hera jumped at the sight of him, nearly choking on a sharp gasp. One bandage clung to his nose, and another transparent bandage covered a stitched up gash on his cheek, under a black eye.

“What in a Devaronian’s dream happened to you?!” she cried, closing in on him to cup his face and inspect his injuries herself. “How long ago did this happen?” Her immediate supposition was: Chopper.

But Fett pulled her hands away. “My last bounty put up a fight; I’m fine.”

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Hera asked while her eyes skimmed along his armor, as if she’d be able to notice anything out of the ordinary.

Fett nodded toward her cabin door. “You’re more than welcome to see for yourself.”


	11. A Kiss to Send Us Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hera says goodbye to Fett for now

They’d worked with each other enough over recent years for Hera to know that twisting Fett’s helmet two centimeters to the left broke the seal. That notable hiss followed—sharp and quick—which never failed to pique her curiosity despite knowing full well a clone’s face hid underneath. **  
**

She lifted the dented helmet slowly until the rim of it touched his nose, exposing a mouth that she’d become rather familiar with. Half of it slanted into a smirk as he realized she was keeping him blind.

Hera kissed him lightly, her restraint unmirrored by Fett who snaked an arm around her and pulled her flush against his armor.

She was going to miss this.

Hera lifted his helmet all the way off, granting him sight again even though neither of them needed their eyes. She let her hands roam through his thick hair. He bit down on her bottom lip and ran her tongue across his mouth.

They pushed against each other as hard as they pulled one another into it, and heat ricocheted throughout Hera’s body, straight from her core out to the tips of her entwining lekku.

Hera hardly felt his hand move up her thick flight suit, but then he closed a fist around one lek, stroking it free of the second which wrapped once around his wrist practically on its own.

His tongue still managed to send shivers down her spine. In her experience, it was a rare occasion when Fett kissed her so enthusiastically. Not every kiss turned hungry and demanding, but whenever it did, it always led to something even more exhilarating.

Her wandering mind was startled from pleasant memories when Fett pulled back, only to be replaced by the smack of cold air to her face. He rested his forehead against hers while they both caught their breath.

“So,” said Fett, and Hera couldn’t remember him sounding this winded since she’d demonstrated exactly how much dexterity her lekku were capable of, “this is how you say goodbye?”

She purposefully tangled her fingers in his hair. “Only when I want to sensitize someone to recontact me.”

It had been an unfortunate reality as the rebellion grew and scored wins against the Empire that Hera would have to terminate her partnership with Fett. It’d been a small hope, faint but persistent in the back of her mind, that due to exposure to her, he’d eventually come around and break ties with the Empire—that her cause would be as infectious with him as it had been with her crew.

But it hadn’t. And for as dependable and capable as he was, Hera ached at the thought of breaking ties with him.

“We both know you’re the one with no resolve,” he deadpanned with that drawl that always snuck into his accent when he was smug. “You’ll come find me, first.”

“That was _one_ time,” she huffed. But the memory flashed vividly in her mind, and her lek squeezed his arm harder.

“A very good time,” Fett said before tipping her chin for another kiss.


End file.
